Verdammt
by Hotaru Muraki
Summary: Schuldig's...not in a good mood. g And what's Crawford got to do with it? So many questions... Warning: mm (implied), mild swearing
1. Verdammt

Disclaimer: The guys belong to…eto…Takehito Koyasu…? And…other people. I'm just kinda _borrowing _them. For a while. They're not mine. They're NOT mine! *bursts into tears* The song mentioned therein is property of Matthias Reim and others which does NOT include me. (_Very_ rough-shot, translated lyrics at the end!!)

Comments: It's not my fault. It's not— *listens to voices* --Oh. Right. It _is_ my fault. This fanfic at least. And one other thing: I wish I hadn't been so…stupid?...to make this a birthday present. If I hadn't promised to write a fanfic with the pairing to be specified by the recipient, i.e. my dear fellow-conspirator Ayumie-chan – this [censored] fic would never have come into existence. ('Cause I don't even really like that guy. __) So if you absolutely wanna blame someone...…BLAME HER!!

Warning: Language (mild). Schuldig. Possibly OOC. A bar. Mentionings of Crawford. Really. *grins* Can anything go wrong with such ingredients? ^^V

Thanks: *hugs reviewers* To all you people out there who were so kind and reviewed the other crap I managed to upload. *throws out WeißKreuz-plushies*

BTW: Oh, and that *points* is Schuldig speaking telepathically:   ::blablablablaah::

         And _that_ is him/anyone else speaking German. *gasp*       "//blablablablaah//"

**V e r d a m m t**

by Muraki Hotaru

"Fine then! I'll go! _I_ know when I'm not wanted!!" Fuming, almost as angry as his hair was orange, Schuldig stormed out of the house Schwarz was currently living in. As he was stomping towards the car he had recently 'acquired', his mind was ablaze. And while he was absolutely furious with A Certain Person, Schuldig was, for once, careful not to broadcast his thoughts. Crawford had become frighteningly good at picking up any 'stray' thoughts Schuldig could not – or did not want to – keep to himself.

_Still, that's no reason for Mr. High-and-Mighty to act like such a prick! I wonder what got him so…stuck up. The way he's acting, you'd think he's got a 40" metal rod shoved up his ass!_ Schuldig, having reached his car, yanked open the door and plumped into the driver's seat. Or what he'd assumed to be the driver's seat. Grumbling, he moved over to the right side of the car. _Great!! After getting grilled oh-so-politely—_ Schuldig made a face at the memory. _–by that stuck-up, condescending, ego-inflated, mean BASTARD – I get stuck with a Subaru of all cars! I HATE Subarus!! Asshole!_

That last thought clearly was not directed at the poor, innocent Subaru. In fact, it wasn't clearly directed at anyone or anything at all. Schuldig's rather volcanic eruption of rage had, by now, cooled down considerably. Turning the key in the ignition, Schuldig, in one of these unpredictably mood-swings of his that Crawford just _loved_ lecturing him about, decided to go out and look for some amusement. He needed the distraction. And to hell with what Crawford had told him! _Fuck you, Brady-boy!_ Schuldig thought. Grinning widely again, he sped off the small par-king lot.

Back in the house, Crawford sneezed, then blinked in confusion.

~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~

Schuldig had nearly reached the city-limits when he saw the lights of a patrol-car blocking his way. When he saw the officer walking towards his already slowing car, Schuldig smirked. Had any of the Weiß boys seen that particular grin, they'd have gotten out of the German's way as far and fast as possible. Of that he was pretty sure. Oh, he was going to have some fun with that officer... Schuldig wound down the window, waiting for the officer to reach him.

"Sir, you were speeding. On this lane, there is a limit of 50 miles per hour. I'm sorry but I will have to give you a ticke—"

::These are not the droids you are looking for. Let me pass.:: Schuldig's eyes sparkled

maliciously. Too bad that someone would have to take the brunt of his anger. Too bad indeed… For that officer. ::You will go back to your car. Then you will give your partner a breath-taking kiss. And _then_ you two will have passionate sex on the backseat.:: He smiled quite angelically, a truly frightening thing all on its own. ::Understood? Please confirm.::

"Yessir!" The hapless officer almost snapped to attention, his eyes already glazed over from Schuldig's insidious whispering. …Or was it due to the images the German had planted in his mind? "Yo, Ryo, let him pass!"

The other officer obediently pulled the car to the side so as to allow Schuldig's Subaru to pass.

Schuldig shook with mirth, gleefully watching in the rear-view-mirror as the 'bedazzled' officer purposefully stalked over to his unsuspecting partner. As the scene rapidly dwindled in the distance, Schuldig let out a whoop of laughter Crawford would have recognized instantly as the vocal sign of some mischief having been accomplished.

~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~

By the time Schuldig pulled into the small parking lot somewhere near the bar he had discovered on one of his previous evenings out, he had decided to try his level best and get as thoroughly and methodically drunk as possible. And to hell with Crawford's order to 'stay away from alcoholic beverages'! It was _his_ fault, after all, that Schuldig felt so...so... irritated right now. _If only, Bradley-boy. If only..._

About twenty minutes later, Schuldig was seated comfortably on a stool at one end of the _Marienplatz_'s counter, a beer and a whiskey on the rocks in front of him. He was still angry, though maybe not quite as livid as before. The prospect of alcohol always seemed to calm him down. More or less. And in his opinion, Crawford _still_ was an asshole, a stiff prick, a— Schuldig knocked back his whiskey in one go. Feeling the whiskey flowing down his throat leave a pleasantly tingling sensation in its wake, he slumped. Sort of. When he remembered the incident with those two police officers, however, Schuldig brightened up again. _I wonder what those two are doing right now..._ He smirked. _But then again..._

Signalling to the bartender for a refill, Schuldig took the first sip of his beer. "Aaaaaahh…." Now _that_ was what Schuldig called a beer! Not the whimpy stuff you could usually buy around Tokyo. "Yo, Hübscher, can you tell me where the beer's coming from?"

The bartender, first annoyed by his cheeky familiarity, then, for some _strange_ reason, intrigued, turned towards Schuldig. "//What are you thinking? Bavaria of course!//"

Grinning at the shocked-speechless expression of his customer, he turned away again to tend to the other patrons of his establishment.

Schuldig blinked. Then he blinked again. Who knew he'd meet someone from Bavaria. Who spoke German. In the midst of downtown Tokyo no less! On the other hand... He should have been able to guess from the bar's name alone. _Marienplatz_, really. It had been a looooong time since Schuldig had visited the city of Munich and strolled over the bar's namesake-place there.

Coming back to the present, he blinked. How had the mug of beer emptied so quickly…!?

"//Another one?//"

"//Yeah, sure.//" Schuldig grinned at the young bartender's eagerness to show off his language skills in using his mother-tongue. _I wonder what other skills this one might be hiding…_ His grin turned slightly lecherous at that thought.

"//You look like you need it,//" the bartender said cheerfully, blushing ever so slightly. He placed another foaming mug in front of Schuldig. Then he reached behind and down, turning on the stereo before hastening to fill the orders of his waiters.

That left Schuldig alone with a filled-to-the-brim mug of 'Starkbier' and the nearly-full bottle of high-quality whiskey the bartender had so conveniently 'forgotten' to put back under the counter again. Taking a gulp of whiskey, Schuldig proceeded to accomplish the missive he had set for himself earlier this evening. Then he perked up. "//Hello—//" Schuldig quickly reached into the bartender's mind. "//—Helmut.//" He grinned as the young man whipped around, plainly surprised at being called by his first name.

"//Yes…?//"

"//Could you turn up the volume of the radio a bit?//"

„//Sure,//" Helmut said hesitatingly, still quite perplexed at how someone could have found out his _real_ first name. With a little 'nudge' from Schuldig, however, he quickly forgot about it and turned back away to the business at hand.

Once again, Schuldig was left to his thoughts, his only company another shot of whiskey and a mug of beer. Alternating between these two, he listened to the song that had by now begun playing on the bar's little stereo. _I didn't think they'd have a German radio station here._ Schuldig harrumphed. _Home__, sweet home..._

_                              Ich ziehe durch die Straßen bis nach Mitternacht,_

_                              Hab das früher auch gern gemacht,_

_                              Dich brauch' ich – dafür nicht._

_Ha!_ Schuldig looked at his watch. _'S not even m'dnight yet._ But the song was true, nevertheless. While he _still_ liked to go out once or twice in a while, he _had_ cut down on his…adventures considerably. All because of— _AAaargh__! I. Do. Not. Need. Him. I don't. Not for going out. Not for anything! Hear me Braaaad? I don't need you!!_

                              _Ich sitz' am Tresen, trinke noch'n Bier,_

_                              Früher war'n wir oft – gemeinsam hier_

_                              Das macht mir – macht mir nichts._

Yeah, right. Schuldig snorted. As if he could do anything that'd make Bradley Crawford go out with him. Wait a sec—

—where had _that one_ come from!? Schuldig sobered up a bit, shocked to the core. No. He was NOT interested. Not in Crawford. No. No way! Crawford was their leader, the one responsible for their missions. The one looking out for the team. Always cool, calm and collected. In control. Elegant. Handsome, well-built,… _Noooo__…!! _Schuldig wailed mentally. _I don't think that's a good idea—_

_                              Gegenüber sitzt 'n Typ wie'n Bär,_

_Ich stell mir vor wenn das Dein Neuer wär',_

_                              Es juckt mich – überhaupt nicht._

Schuldig barely managed to get a hankie out before his nosebleed could hit either his beer or his whiskey – or both. An (over-)active imagination combined with an un-healthy amount of alcohol can really bring about the strangest images in one's mind, ne? Before this, Schuldig would never have even thought of Crawford in _that_ way. Now... Now the thought of Bradley Crawford being with anyone else sent Schuldig into a green-eyed fit of nose-bleeding jealousy.

_Auf einmal packt's mich, ich geh' auf ihn zu_

_                              Und mach' ihn an, Laß meine Frau in Ruh._

_                              Er fragt nur – hast Du 'n Stich?_

He hastily downed another shot of whiskey, followed by a looong gulp of beer. Ignoring the weird glance Helmut threw his way, Schuldig remembered last weekend. Or, to be more precise, the evening of last week's Friday. _I just _know_ 13's _not_ my lucky number._ He sighed. Why hadn't Crawford  taken Nagi to accompany him and that chipmunk to that fancy party? In Schuldig's opinion, a temperature of 103° F was a really sorry excuse for skipping one's duties. But alas, Crawford had ruled differently. And as a consequence, Schuldig had been 'asked' to go. Not only had he been forced to wear a tux but to top the whole thing off, Crawford had expressively forbidden him to "use his talents on any of the party's participants". Schuldig snorted. Really, where was the fun in that?

That evening had truly been _no_ fun at all! Really... Having to watch Takatori prance around, talking as try-shrewdly as he was pompous. What a _bore_!  But even worse, Schuldig had also been forbidden to "excessively indulge in anything alcoholic". Damn Crawford! However, in retrospect, that wasn't the worst thing that had happened that evening. The proverbial last straw on Schuldig's back had been all those obnoxious, twittly, brainless women who had – from Schuldig's point of view – thrown themselves so shamelessly at the tall, handsome American.

_Und ich denke schon wieder nur an Dich._

Damn. Damn! Damn!! And here he'd hoped to spend at least one evening without ever thinking about—

_Verdammt ich lieb' Dich, ich lieb' Dich nicht..._

WHAAAT!?!? Schuldig nearly choked on his whiskey. As it was, he just sat there, coughing, his face nearly matching the colour of his hair. Purely from coughing, of course. Why would _anyone_ – let alone himself – think that—

_Verdammt ich brauch' Dich, ich brauch' Dich nicht..._

Now _why_ would _he_ need someone like Bradley Crawford, icy bastard extra-ordinaire?! Schuldig mused thoughtfully, conveniently ignoring his earlier resolution to forget You-Know-Who for at least this one single evening.

_Verdammt ich will Dich, ich will Dich nicht_

For the second time this evening, Schuldig made a dash for some tissues. He had had to save his drinks from being flooded by a sudden burst of nose-bleeding once already. Damn his alcohol-influenced mind...

_                              Ich will Dich nicht verlier'n._

Yes, Crawford _was_ a stiff-necked asshole most of the time. Sometimes. Frequently. Every now and then. And yes, Schuldig _did_ want to strangle the handsome leader of Schwarz more often than not. He took another swig of the two-thirds empty bottle of whiskey. _But__ still..._

_                              So langsam fällt mir alles wieder ein,_

_                              Ich wollte doch nur 'n bißchen freier sein._

_                              Jetzt bin ich's – oder nicht?_

Oh boy, Crawford had really been angry this time. What exactly they had been arguing about, Schuldig couldn't remember. However, he _did_ remember Crawford's anger. The tall American's fury was nothing like his own quick-fire temper but rather the opposite. Where Schuldig's rage was fiery and blazing, Crawford became icy, his anger bone-chillingly cold and cutting straight to the core, precise and merciless as a doctor's scalpel. And _then_ – Schuldig was infuriatingly sure that Crawford had foreseen this, too – he had Schuldig to "go and not come back until he had cooled off". Which had led Schuldig to exactly where he was right now: in some hitherto unknown bar somewhere in Tokyo, drinking. But even with all those people and their thoughts around him Schuldig still felt... lonely? As if something or someone were...missing?

_                              Ich passe nicht in Deine heile Welt_

_                              Doch die und Du ist was mir jetzt fehlt_

_                              —Ich glaub' das – einfach nicht..._

_Yeah, right. Me too,_ Schuldig thought, already too drunk to care that he was arguing with a song. _I fu***ing don't believe it!_ 'Don't…? Isn't it rather 'don't want to'…?' a little voice piped up from somewhere in the back of his mind. _Oh shut the FUCK UP!!!,_ Schuldig growled, irritated. _I absolutely refuse to let him dominate me like that!_ Then, realizing what exactly he had just thought, Schuldig...

...blushed. The detailed and _graphic_ images this brought up— He shook his head, half in disbelieving denial and half in a rather futile attempt to get rid of these pictures. Schuldig also tried to ignore the sudden tightness of his pants. Alas, resistance was futile.

                              _Gegenüber steht ein Telefon,_

_                              Es lacht mich ständig an voll Hohn,_

_                              Es klingelt, klingelt aber nicht._

Schuldig smirked. No, here at least the song was not in accordance. There was no telephone in front of him. And... He carefully combed through Helmut's consciousness. _Shit! I wouldn't have thought that—_ Schuldig turned, giving the payphone sitting innocently in a corner the evil eye. If he could just have Nagi's gift for a minute, he'd have ripped that useless piece of garbage out of its protective casing and smashed it against the wall until it crumbled to tiny pieces. Schuldig was somewhat surprised to find that he was near-ready to cry.

                              _Sieben Bier, zuviel geraucht,_

_                              Das ist es was ein Mann so braucht,_

_                              Doch niemand, niemand sagt: Hör au_f

But then again... Crawford _had_ repeatedly told him not to engage so heavily in drinking and…other things. Schuldig felt himself blushing for the second time this evening. There was the question of his skills being impeded by smoking, drinking and…that, of course, but... Could it be that – and at this, Schuldig squirmed uncomfortably – Crawford was _worried_ for him!? That was a novel feeling for Schuldig. He wasn't really used to the idea of someone caring for him. Or, he amended silently, at least caring enough to take an interest in his personal well-being. Schuldig sighed a bit forlornly. Somehow, this thought left a warm, pleasantly tingling sensation somewhere near his stomach. ...Or was it his...heart...? _Naw__,_ Schuldig decided. _Must be the alcohol! __Definitely__ the alcohol. What else?_

_                              Und ich denke schon wieder nur an Dich_

Yeah, true. Crawford really was on his mind nearly all the time. Damn it!

_                              Verdammt ich lieb' Dich, ich lieb' Dich nicht_

Schuldig was confused. The relationships he'd had up to now had not prepared him for dealing with such complexities. No, they hadn't prepared him at all for the conflicting emotions and contradictory impulses that assaulted him now.

_Verdammt ich will Dich, ich will Dich nicht_

Schuldig finally came to a decision. Determined, he stood up, swaying only very slightly.

_                              Ich will Dich nicht verlier'n_

Gesturing for the bartender to come over, Schuldig reached for his wallet. He was feeling magnanimous today – so he would, for once, actually pay for his drinks instead of tricking someone into paying for him. The he had an idea.

"//Say, Helmut...//"

"//Yes?//"

"//...that song…//"

"//Ah, my favourite CD by Matthias Reim.//"

"//Huh? ...CD...?//"

"//Yep,//" Helmut nodded enthusiastically. "//You know, there is no German radio station in Tokyo.//"

"//But then why...?//" Schuldig wasn't quite sure why he didn't just search the man's mind fort he answer he was looking for. _Must be Crawford's incessant lecturing about 'not wantonly using your gift',_ he finally concluded.

"//......Somehow, you looked like it,//" came Helmut's reply hesitantly.

"//Huh...!?//"

When he saw Schuldig's adorably perplexed expression, Helmut couldn't but grin. That in turn made Schuldig glare at him, albeit half-heartedly.

"//Hey, I'm good at my job,//" Helmut said. "//And a good barkeeper knows when a guest suffers from heartaches.//" Waving aside Schuldig feebly attempt at protest, he continued. "//You know what _I_ would do in your place?//"

"//No. What!?//"

Schuldig's sarcasm, nearly thick enough to walk on, was cheerfully being ignored.

Helmut looked at him, for a moment becoming serious. Then he bent down and stopped the CD. Coming back up, he put the CD in its cover and slid it over to Schuldig. The grin he wore now was the widest Helmut had had during the whole evening.

"//Go home, give her the smooch of her life _and_ give her the CD.//"

"//And what's that supposed to accomplish?//" Schuldig wanted to know.

Helmut just gave him a Look. "//Still better than doing nothing and waiting forever, hm?//"

"//Hmmmm......//" Thoughtfully, Schuldig pocketed the CD. With a decisive good-bye and a rather un-Schuldig-like 'Thank you', Schuldig left the bar.

As he slid behind the Subaru's wheel, Schuldig began to grin. And the grin widened the more he neared his destination. Having reached Schwarz's current domicile, he started to park the car where he had left it before. When he had parked the car to his inebriated satisfaction, Schuldig was actually determined to give Helmut's suggestion a try. _Can't hurt, can it?_

[ Inside the house, Crawford shuddered, an feeling of premonition running icy fingers down his spine. Unfortunately, it wasn't strong enough to lead him to an actual vision. It was late and he was a bit too tired to investigate further. ..._can't be that important then,_ Crawford decided, shrugging it off. ]

In the meantime, Schuldig had managed to lock the car, walk to the front-door, actually find his keys and open, close and lock the door behind him again. He stood in the hallway, swaying ever so slightly.

"Braaadley— Where aaare yoouuu...?"

Crawford, having felt somewhat obliged to wait for his errant teammate's return, stepped out of the living-room. He stare-glared icily at the grinning Schuldig.

"Don't call me that. And do you know how la—hrmmmphg!!" The rest of Crawford's words was cut off abruptly as Schuldig latched onto him with uncanny precision and speed for one so drunk – and gave him a tongue-involving kiss of epic proportions, bringing to bear all he had ever learned.

When Schuldig let go again, Crawford just stood there, blinking.

"Wellasyousaidit'salreadylatesoI'lljustgotobedohandthat'sforyougoodnight." With that, Schuldig thrust the CD into Crawford's pocket and turned around, walking towards his room. The door shut with an audibly click strangely loud in the silence of the nightly house.

After hurricane Schuldig had disappeared, Bradley Crawford still stood in exactly the same spot in exactly the same position as before, numbly fingering the CD in his jacket's pocket.

_I couldn't have predicted THAT!_

**O W A R I ^^V**

AN: Please don't tell me anyone actually wants to know what _Crawford_ did while Schuldig was busy getting sloshed. Or what Crawford will do _now_. You're not interested in that, right? RIGHT!?

Lyrics to "Verdammt"

(= Damn!)

I'm walking through the streets until after midnight,

I used to like doing that.

I don't need _you_ for that!

I'm sitting at the counter, drinkin' another beer, 

We often used to be here together.

I don't care, really don't care!

Across from me, there sits a guy like a bear,

I'm imagining this to be your New One.

I don't care, really don't care!

Suddenly it pricks me. I walk up to him

Telling him to leave my woman alone.

He only asks: You crazy!?

And again, I'm only thinking of you.

Refrain: 

Damn, I love you, I do _not_ love you. 

Damn, I need you, I do not need you.

Damn, I want you, I do not want you

I don't want to lose you!

I'm starting to remember everything: 

I just wanted to be a little bit more free.

Now I am – or am I?

I didn't fit into your perfect world,

But that and you is what I'm missing right now,

I simply can't believe it.

Across from me there's a telephone,

Laughing at me, full of scorn,

But ringing, no, not ringing.

Seven beer, smoked too much,

That's what a man really needs,

But no-one ever says: Stop.

And again, I'm only thinking of you.

Refrain: 

Damn, I love you, I do _not_ love you. 

Damn, I need you, I do not need you.

Damn, I want you, I do not want you

I don't want to lose you!


	2. The First Cut

Disclaimer: Not mine. NOT mine! *bursts into tears* Just borrowed. From...eto...*shrugs* ...other people? The song mentioned therein is property of Cat Stevens and unknown others, i.e. NOT me.

Comments: This is what happens when you don't watch where you're writing. I started another fic – on paper! – and only after writing about two pages of it did I discover that somehow I had 'jumped' over two pages. The result? Two pages of clear, bright, white space left. Farfarello also thought these pages should be filled 'to hurt God'. (If I wouldn't, then... Well, you can guess. ^__^;;;)

Thanks: Coppelia. *hugs* Thank you for reviewing 'Verdammt'. *blinks* And so fast, too! ^^V

Warning: It's weird! – It's Farfarello. (What _did_ you expect anyway...!?) Possibly OOC-ness (Because I don't really know anything about Farfie's background other than what I've been told or have read.)

**SPOILER ALERT!!!** Spoilers ahead for **eps.12: Abschied**, as well as bit of **eps.18: Schuld** of the anime!!!

**T h e   F i r s t   C u t**

by Muraki Hotaru

Schuldig. Schuldig. Schuldig had let him out. Would he also tuck him in again? Because the German usually was the one to release him from the straight-jacket. It hurt God. It hurt God even more when Crawford released him. Rarely did this happen, but Crawford was stronger than Schuldig. So it hurt God even more. Farfarello chuckled. Yes, God had been hurt today. A lot. Schuldig had quarrelled with Crawford. Crawford had been not-angry ice. And Schuldig had been very-angry fire. They had clashedslashedblazedquarelledargued. Oh, how God had been hurt!

Farfarello hummed contentedly. On top of that, Crawford had allowed him – and Nagi, he grudgingly admitted – to cook dinner. Farfarello had voted for _Tartar_ while Nagi opted for _sukiyaki_. In the end, they had settled on making stew and fruit-salad for dessert. So here they were, in Schwarz' roomy kitchen, cooking dinner. Crawford was...elsewhere.

Nagi, knowing Farfarello's penchant for slicing things up – including himself – had soon set him on cutting the raw meat he had dragged from the fridge. The Irishman had even gone so far as to use his favourite knife, sharpened to a razor's edge, to cutslicecarve the meat. Hehehe..... This was fun...

While Farfarello was busy, Nagi had not been idle either. He had added the finely cut lumps of meat to the other ingredients already assembled in the pot. And Nagi was glad that he had been able to convince his assistant that frying the meat would hurt God more than eating it raw. *shudder* What a horrible thought!

With a slight nudge of his gift, Nagi turned on the radio. Maybe the resulting noise would drown out Farfie's melodic but disconcerting humming. He sighed. _Why me? What did I do to deserve this?_ He itched to be back with his computer. There was this one chat-room and that online-acquaintance Nagi wanted to go back to... Shaking his head, he continued with his task. Really. What _had_ their leader been _thinking_? Well, at least the song playing seemed to distract Farfarello. He didn't even notice when Nagi exchanged the bowl of meat for the bowl of fruits.

Farfarello grinned. This song was good. It surely was hurting God lots and lots. Little by little, he drifted back into his past, the song his only guideline.

_                              I would have given you all of my heart_

He was back home in Ireland. It was Sunday and he was in the church with his family, celebrating the Mass. How the glass-stained windows glowed, illuminating the altar and gilding the Cross with a shine almost too bright to look at!

_                              But there's someone who's torn it apart_

Then the scene switched. Farfarello saw his eight-year-old self, standing in a pool of blood. Around him, he saw the bodies of his family, all dead.

_                              And He's taken all that I've got_

After that, he didn't remember much else for a time. It was all a blur to him. There were some stupid people who tried to tell him that what had happened had been the work of some terrorists. They tried to tell him it wasn't his fault. Sure it wasn't. It was God's fault. God had hurt him. So he would hurt God back. It was as simple as that.

_                              But if you want I'll try to love again_

_                              Baby, I'll try to love again but I know_

…that it won't work. And why should it? Why should he love God again when He had hurt him like that? Pictures flashed by. His father, the minister, throat cut almost from ear to ear. His mother, wrists bleeding. His little sister Deirdre, stabbed through the heart.

_                              The first cut is the deepest, Baby I know_

Jei saw the knife descending, catching his sister unaware. Little Deirdre just mada a kind of surprised 'oh'-sound, her small, pink rosebud-mouth opening in surprise – just as the knife plunged straight through her heart.

_                              The first cut is the deepest_

Crying, Jei turned away. Farfarello just shrugged. How could one little boy's tears hurt God? He went on to look for the minister.

_                              But when it comes to being lucky he's cursed_

Unlike the little girl and the mother that had been caught totally by surprise, the priest insisted on struggling, resulting in a prolonged and rather...messy end. That one hadn't quite gone as planned...

_                              When it comes to loving me, she's worst_

Jei had adored his mother. He admired her kind generousity, her unquestioning faith and her piety. Farfarello just felt a sharp, hateful contempt towards that woman.

_                              But when it comes to be in love, she's first_

Farfarello clearly remembered all the times that Jei had to come second or even third in rank compared to Jei's mother's service to God. Prayer, Mass and Service – all these things were more important by far than the family. That made Jei sad. Farfarello was just plain and simple angry. 

_                              That's how I know_

God had hurt him. A lot. So _he_ would hurt God, to pay Him back for all that he had to endure. Lots and lots. But how could he ever hope to accomplish that?

_                              The first cut is the deepest, Baby I know_

And then, Farfarello was swept back to the orphanage he had been brought to when the corpses of his family had been discovered. There he had first tried to hurt God by hurting himself, something the wardens had all too quickly become aware of. Hence knives or any other sharp-edged objects were kept from him. He was not too happy about that for how would he be able to hurt God then?

_                              The first cut is the deepest_

Then one day, a tall American had come to the orphanage. The man had heard of his story and his behaviour. Telling Farfarello that he knew of a very good way to hurt God – to hurt Him very, very much – the American said that if he, Farfarello, would accompany him, he'd learn how to _really_ hurt God. And so it came to pass that Farfarello and his new boss, Bradley Crawford, went to Japan.

There, true to his word, Crawford explained to Farfarello how to 'hurt God'. He was taught by professionals how to kill, torture and murder without any regrets. In his opinion, the more honest an assignment was, the more God would be hurt. Farfarello's increasing skill to execute even the most difficult target was only hampered by his fondness of inflicting damage on himself. This was especially troublesome when it happened before a mission. His growing immunity to pain and his unwillingness to acknowledge any harm or injury, however, more than made up for this. But since, Farfarello habitually tried to kill himself, he had to be restrained in a straight-jacket more and more often.

Farfarello thoughtfully cut up his second banana, then dumped it into the bowl. Hm... What else was missing? Ah, right. A fruit salad was not complete without that. Smiling somewhat insanely, he picked up some apples. Adam had hurt God, too. So cutting and eating those apples would hurt God back at least a little, right?

Farfarello set to his new task with a relish. And still the song was playing, taking him back in time once again.

That day back then... Oh, he remembered the little Weiß kitten's distress all too clearly. How he had cried! How he had howled his anguish towards the uncaring heavens! And all that hurt and pain over just one little girl. His half-sister even! Farfarello was sure that God had hurt incredibly that day. And all the others could do was stand there and watch. They had been too late to save that Oka-girl. All in vain. Too late to save their little angel from having his heart tortured like that...

He and Schuldig had made their escape when the other Weißes had rushed to comfort their fallen, wing-broken angel. At the top of the incline, Farfarello had turned back for the last time, watching the three shadowy silhouettes cluster about two collapsed ones. Despite the approaching dusk, he could see their distress clearly. But the way the other Weiß-kittens reacted to the pain of one of their own... There was something there that... Hadn't he known better, Farfarello would have almost felt...jealous? Why?

_                              I still want you by my side_

He had been quiet that evening. So unusually quiet in fact that even Crawford had taken notice and enquired. Schuldig had locked him up as usual but instead of going, the telepath had stayed a while to chat. Then Nagi had come down to bring them their dinner. He'd said that Crawford had told him to. Farfarello had not had company for dinner in a long, long time. Perhaps too long a time. It made him feel...strange. He wasn't sure whether he really liked that.

_                              Just to help me dry the tears that I've cried_

That night, for the first time in years, Farfarello had dared to dream of something other than his craving, his burning desire to 'hurt God'. What was it that made Weiß so...different from Schwarz? Apart from the fact that they were much, much weaker, that is. And _what_ was Schwarz to him? Really just a means to an end...?

_                              'Cos I'm sure gonna give you a trial_

Having finished cutting the innocent apples into tiny cubes, Farfarello pondered on this question. He had, despite what the others might think of his attention span, noticed that their leader seemed more and more...stone-faced these days. Certainly the precog had seen some major event looming up ahead. Maybe it heralded a change for the future of Schwarz, too? Maybe that was the reason for the sudden increase in phone-calls Crawford had made? But with whom…? And for what?

_                              And if you want I'll try to love again_

Ha! Not bloody likely! But still... Farfarello hoped that Schwarz would survive the trials unscathed. Maybe even the Weiß-kittens would survive – despite their weakness. Then they could...

_                              Baby, I'll try to love again, but I know_

"Farfarello, what did you do now?" Nagi sounded exasperated.

"I cut myself," the Irishman deadpanned, holding up a bleeding hand.

Nagi just shook his head, sighing in defeat.

_                              The first cut is the deepest, Baby I know_

_                              The first cut is the deepest..._

A short time later, Farfarello's hand was bandaged and he was back at the kitchen counter, cleaning his knife while Nagi put the finishing touches on the fruit-salad. Using his telekinetic abilities, he had already set the table earlier, so now there was not much left for Nagi to do. Except one thing...

Just as he was dividing the dessert up into the little chocolate containers he had recently bought, Crawford wandered into the kitchen. Nagi and Farfarello looked up, gazing questioningly at their leader. Since when had the American ever entered the kitchen at any other time than...? Then Nagi smiled slightly, having heard an almost inaudible grumble.

"Crawford…"

"I know."

"…dinner is ready." Farfarello finished.

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O W A R I °__°;;V              

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Note 1: (I'm starting to scare myself, here. Really, understanding Farfarello – how bad can that be? *blinks* Don't answer that. *sweatdrops*)

Note2: This is only an interlude of sorts. It was conceived by accident, inattention and stupidity. I hope you like it nevertheless. C&C are welcome! And DON'T tell me you want to know what happens at dinner? *listens to off-voices* Are you really sure about this? *listens again* You ARE...!? *sighs* Oh well...


End file.
